


(try not to tell you i love you) when you walk by

by ottermo



Category: Anne of Green Gables (TV 1985) & Related Fandoms, Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery
Genre: F/M, Gilbert Blythe Needs a Hug, Redmond Era, anne of the island - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 14:47:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21478093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ottermo/pseuds/ottermo
Summary: He had not, since the tender age of twelve, considered a future without Anne Shirley in it.
Relationships: Anne Shirley & Gilbert Blythe
Comments: 14
Kudos: 64





	(try not to tell you i love you) when you walk by

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this two years ago and just found it yesterday when I was clearing out old documents on my phone. I can’t remember why I didn’t post it at the time - perhaps because I didn’t think I had the voices right. It’s been long enough since I read the books that I don’t know either way now, so I thought it might as well go up! 
> 
> I’m pretty sure this is set during _Anne of the Island_, and I can’t remember if Gilbert ever mentions having a conversation with Philippa (or Izabela in the Polish translation) after Anne’s official refusal... but if he does, this is my attempt at it. 
> 
> The title (and some of the dialogue, to be fair) is taken from Gilbert’s song “All You Can Do Is Wait” in _Anne & Gilbert: The Musical_. Bless him.

Anne was avoiding him, and Gilbert was letting her, although even now he could not bring himself to take an active part in their separation. There would be enough of that when she left for Bolingbroke with Philippa, and from there to Prince Edward Island, leaving Gilbert here to work the summer away. For now, he lived for distant glances of her - the short moments between his entering of a room and her departing it - the snatches of her voice he would hear as she walked by, arm in arm with a friend.

These fragments were no substitute for her companionship, but even a hint of her flame-red hair across the street was enough to lift his heart, just slightly, from the depths in which it otherwise dwelt. Hope had never been torturous before. For as long as it remained unspoken between them, Gilbert had conducted his existence in a fairly comfortable state of anticipation, believing on some fundamental level that a time would come when Anne would, eventually, become his. Now that he had actually heard the word 'no' from her lips, now that she had looked him in the eyes and told him, with horrifying honesty, that she was sure she could never love him - now, it was so much harder to hope, yet hope had become all the more vital to his very existence.

He had not, since the tender age of twelve, considered a future without Anne Shirley in it.

He could not and would not. Yet she would have him believe it was to be. And so, though their distance was a torment, Gilbert had been allowing her to evade him - he had not inserted himself into her company when it could be helped, and he had not thought out the ways she would be passing before leaving his lodgings each morning - he had just ventured out, leaving any intersections of their pathways to chance.

In so doing, he had seen much less of Philippa Gordon, or any of Anne's other friends, than he usually did, though perhaps he had not really noticed that particular absence until Philippa was standing in front of him, one early morning down by the harbour. Her eyes, usually wide and sparkling, were narrowed now, and for a moment Gilbert wondered if she'd sought him out to give him a piece of her mind.

But her voice, when she spoke, was full of sympathy. "You look terrible, darling," she said, "I'm afraid you really have no choice but to come and sit with me. I can't leave a poor bedraggled soul like you standing so close to the pier, or I'll wonder all day if you've jumped off and been drowned."

She took his arm with an air of authority, and Gilbert summoned the ghost of a smile to his lips. Brusque though she was in her concern, it was somehow comforting to have Phil's presence in a day that had been all too quiet thus far.

They walked along the harbour road until they came to a bench under a tree, and Gilbert tried, quite heroically, not to picture Anne sitting there, as he'd seen her do so often, with a book on her knee and a lock of red hair twirled around her finger. It was one of her favourite places to study - but perhaps Philippa didn't know that. Otherwise it would have been cruel.

Apparently, his efforts to keep his thoughts from his face were not at all successful. Phil sat down on the bench and pulled him into place next to her, in an almost motherly manner that seemed quite alien in so flighty a creature.

"I wasn't going to jump off the pier," Gilbert offered, ruefully. "If that's of any comfort." 

"Well, I'm glad to hear that, at least," Philippa said. She gave a sad smile. "Anne told me what happened between you. You know I'd never hear a word said against her, Gilbert, but I think she was a frightful goose to turn you down in the way she did. Naturally, you must never tell her I said that, on fear of my throwing you off the pier myself."

"She won't hear about it from me," he promised. Then he added, dismally, "There are a lot of things she won't hear from me, it seems."

Phil sighed. "I really thought she would accept you, when it came down to it."

Their eyes met for a moment, and suddenly Phil tutted and said, "It's no good, I just can't bear to look at you like this. You must excuse me while I find somewhere else to put my head, so that I can't see you."

Before he could properly understand what she meant by that announcement, Phil had flung her arms around him and gathered him in a tight embrace. It was so sisterly, so warm and so unlike the other interactions he had suffered over the past few days that, to Gilbert's horror, he heard himself take a sharp inward breath, suspiciously similar to the sound a whimpering child makes on the verge of bursting into tears.

Thankfully, he did not do anything of that nature, but that didn't stop Philippa from curling a hand around the back of his neck and murmuring, "There, there. I declare, I've never seen a creature look so miserable. And perhaps if I were a true friend to you, I'd tell you to give her up, but... I can't help but think this isn't the end, not quite."

She pulled back from him, apparently reconsidering her aversion to looking him in the eye.

"You think I should keep trying?" said Gilbert, glumly.

Phil's eyes widened. "Oh, no. Definitely not. Call off any and all plans you have for any future trying. You misunderstand me."

"Guess I must do," mumbled Gilbert, waiting for her to explain.

"You know Anne better than I do, you must know how stubborn she is. The more she's pushed, the more she digs in those pretty little heels." Phil gave his arm a squeeze. "You've done all you can, for the present. All I'm saying is that you mustn't give up hope. If you love her enough to wait for her - and I think it's safe to say you do - then I think you should. One day she'll develop some senses, and soon after that she may even come to them. Until then..."

"All I can do is wait," Gilbert finished for her. "I was thinking something similar myself."

Phil looked immensely satisfied. "Well, then. If we two think so much alike, and Anne adores me, it only follows that she adores you, too."

This almost scored a chuckle from Gilbert. "And since when have you been so wise in the ways of romance, Miss Gordon? I've always had you down as a skeptic."

Philippa shrugged. "Seeing is believing, I suppose. I might believe myself incapable of love, but one would have to be blind not to see it between you two." She inclined her head slightly sideways, reconsidering. "Well, blind...or Anne."

Gilbert sighed. "Thank you, Philippa. I wasn't... I don't think I could have given up hope even if you'd advised me to, but to hear you say the opposite is... heartening."

"You looked as though you could do with a good heartening," Phil commented, "So I'm glad, if it's worked. But that wasn't my sole intention. I truly believe what I've told you."

He nodded. He hadn't doubted her. This new, ever-so-earnest version of Philippa was overflowing with sincerity, and though some logical inner voice reminded him that even sincerity could be misplaced, he wanted her words to be true. That Anne would see him, one day. That when it happened, it wouldn't be too late.

"Because I want the best for Anne," said Phil - softer now, less forthright, but just as honest. "And the best, for Anne, is you. It can only be you. She'll get it through that head of hers eventually. Do you promise not to get too... disheartened, in the meantime?" 

He gave a half-smile. "I promise."

"And in return," she said, "I promise that I will let you know immediately, if I ever think the time has come for another attempt." She raised her eyebrows. "Not that our dear Queen Anne is ever predictable, of course. But I shall keep my eyes open for a 'favorable season', should one arise."

"Thank you," he said again. "I... can't thank you enough."

She waved a hand to dismiss that. "A mention in your vows will suffice." A mischievous grin slid across her face. "But then again... 'Philip' would work just as well as 'Philippa', if your firstborn insists upon being a boy."

This, finally, coaxed a laugh. "I'll keep that in mind."

Phil stood, abruptly, from the bench. "Don't work yourself too hard this summer," she said, in a warning tone. "No more than six jobs. Do I make myself clear?"

He grimaced. "I've already lined up an eighth. But it's just waitering in Charlotte's Café. Nothing too strenuous."

She shook her head with an air of resigned disapproval. "You never quit, do you, Blythe?"

He stood to join her. "Not if I can help it. And not if I want to stay on at Redmond next year."

"Take care of yourself," said Phil, solemnly.

"And you," he said, offering his hand. The gesture felt overly formal now, though not fifteen minutes ago he would have thought nothing of it. Still, she shook his hand, with a firmness that spoke of solidarity rather than feminine politeness.

All too soon, she was gone, back the way she'd come, and the link to Anne's world was severed all over again. Gilbert returned to the harbour road. It was almost time to report to the florist's.

Summer stretched before him, weeks upon weeks where time would not be his own. That was fine. He’d not been entirely his own man in years.


End file.
